Matters of the Heart
by Hawke
Summary: Wolfram and Hart isn't quite finished with Cordelia. Angel's not quite finished with them.


Matters of the Heart   
  


Chapter One 

  
  
Cordelia Chase eased back into the warm soapy water of the first bath she'd had the opportunity to take in a week. The music drifting out of the radio was soft and bluesy, not Cordelia's style, but it was nice. It was quiet, and that, more than anything else, was what she wanted. 

Bubbles clung to her calf and slid toward her knee as she lifted first one leg, then the other, and propped her ankles on the lip of the tub. The old claw-footed thing had seemed horribly clunky and archaic when she'd moved in. Now, it was just right. She settled deeper into the water, head resting comfortably on the inflatable pillow she'd bought at the drugstore on the way home from work today. Tacky? Maybe, but she couldn't afford the expensive tastes she'd once had, and tonight, she just didn't care. 

Dinner had been take-home Thai right out of the box. No fuss, no muss, no dishes in the morning. The bubble bath was seafoam or rain or some other natural scent that nature had never invented. She had red wine resting on a table beside the tub, just within reach. She'd dusted off the last of the crystal glasses she'd managed to salvage from home, and cheerfully filled it tonight. Even Dennis, the ghost who shared her home, had left her in peace. Tonight was her night. Tonight, for once, everything would just be normal. 

Cordelia wanted normal. Craved normal. No, she deserved normal. Ever since the Powers That Be had started sending her visions, normal was decidedly not. She'd had demon babies planted in her head. She'd nearly given birth to a demon's child, and thought she wanted it that way. She'd been drooled on, spit at, and waded hip-deep through puddles of things she would've preferred to forget. And it had all started with a kiss. Doyle's kiss. 

Doyle. God, now there was a name that hadn't tumbled through her mind in forever. With it came the familiar tightening in her chest that she really didn't miss. It was still hard, sometimes, to believe that he was gone. He hadn't been all that bad, in hindsight. He was a demon, sure. Half-demon, she corrected herself. And he'd lacked a certain style. He hadn't had any style, to be honest. But he'd had a big heart. That made up for the rest of his shortcomings. Well. Almost. 

Still, without Doyle, and without that kiss, Cordelia would still be just a secretary, taking down names and trying to convince the average Joe that the thing that went bump in the night really could hurt him, if it was in the right mood. Now, she was important. She was a part of the team. She was the heart of the team. 

If only it didn't have to hurt. 

* * * 

The circle was unbroken, just as it had to be. Fourteen candles, each as big around as a woman's arm and such a dark shade of red as to be almost black, made up the shape, just as they should. The flames on each flickered with the swirling words of the chant voice by the three women kneeling in the circle's center. One held a charred demon's skull, notable for the three sets of horns that still protruded from the skull and incisors at least a finger long. Another held the two splintered halves of a broken wooden stake, blackened and hardened by fire. Still another held a polished silver bowl, empty of anything save the reflection of candlelight. Two burly men wearing turbans and multi-colored scarves about their waists stood guard at the office's double doors. 

All that was missing were the well-tanned, doe-eyed boys bearing palm-frond fans, and they had the makings of a class-A attraction in Las Vegas. Lila checked her watch for the fifteenth time, rolled her head from side to side on an aching neck, and sighed. This was taking too long. 

She unfolded her arms, pushed the plastic in-tray back from the corner of her desk, and perched on the edge, one long leg crossing over the other. The suit, dark linen offset by a crisp white blouse and cut in an elegant yet functional style, was comfortable, at least. After fifteen hours on and off her feet, the heels were not. The chant began again, and Lila rolled her eyes, reached for her cigarette case and lighter, and flicked the flint. 

The lighter flamed, sputtered, and winked out again. Another flick, and nothing save the sound of escaping gas. Lila shook the lighter, satisfied with the splashing of fluid still left inside and tried another time. 

A man's massive hand plucked the lighter out of hers and palmed it, effectively hiding it from view. Lila looked up to meet the obsidian eyes of a turbaned guard, and the protest she'd taken a breath for died on her lips. 

"You disturb the spell before it is complete. One more flame in this room tips the balance of power. Light this," he said, producing the lighter again, "and everything comes crashing down. Our work will have been for nothing." He wasn't bad looking, Lila thought. Good cheekbones, a strong jaw. Shadows picked out hollows in his cheeks that she was certain would prove to be dimples in better light. His voice was rich and smooth, like drowning in melted chocolate. Just listening to those few words had her skin tingling and her heart skipping every other beat. Not bad at all. Provided, of course, that you could get past the eyes. They weren't just black. They were completely black. Not a hint of white to surround them, no way to tell pupil from iris. Just black. Reflective, like marbles, not eyes. 

Lila fought down a shiver, and looked away. Anywhere, just away. "Sorry," she whispered resentfully. "The chanting makes my nose itch. I was trying to distract myself." She straightened up and tucked her arms across her chest, chin lifting defiantly. "Just how much longer is this going to take? We've been here for hours already and frankly? I'm starting to get bored." 

Marble eyes shifted -- she could tell by the way her reflection slid sideways in them -- and he turned his head toward the door. "The ceremony draws to an end." 

"Really." Lila's eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "That's what you said two hours ago." When he said nothing further, she slipped off the desk again, and held out a hand. "My lighter?" He handed it over easily, and she patted him patiently on the chest. Solid. Pure muscle, she caught herself thinking. Pure hot muscle, she amended a moment later as she yanked her stinging hand away. "I'm tired of waiting. Call me when you need me." She stepped around her desk, picked up her briefcase, and headed for the doors. 

There was a roar, a muffled shout, and the doors burst open before her, swinging inward with such speed that she hardly had time to stumble out of the way. A body, tossed and tumbling, smacked into her ankles and she dropped her briefcase to grab for the arm of a chair, rather than to go down beside it. 

Him, she amended silently, as the body rose, shook itself, and stared around the room, dazed. His forehead was pronounced and deeply creased. His eyebrows were hairless but the ridges overshadowed his eyes. His nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something objectionable over the stench that rose from his own soiled clothing, and when his lip curled, Lila got a glimpse of the jagged ends of his teeth. A vampire. 

"Nice place," he said with what might have been a drawl. He was tall, Lila noticed. Lanky and bowlegged. Maybe he'd been a cowboy, once upon a time. "Nice company," he added, as he spotted Lila and met her stare. He started toward her, licking his bottom lip. "Is she for me?" 

Another hulking guardsman, and the third to step into the room, so presumably the one who'd introduced the vampire to the room so violently, caught the cowboy by the back of the neck, and lifted him, bodily, then carried him away. 

Lila found she'd lifted her hand to her throat unconsciously. She'd learned her lesson again, recently. An unprotected throat around a vampire, known or otherwise, was a liability. She forced herself to relax, and breathe. 

The guardsman and his quarry, who had gone oddly silent and curled in on himself, like a kitten would when picked up by the scruff of the neck, crossed the circle of candles, and stopped in the middle of the women who'd been chanting all night. A stronger wind blew through Lila's office, and the doors swung shut with a thud that shook the floor. Lila reminded herself to breathe again. 

As one, the three women lifted their heads to consider the vampire being presented, or so it seemed. As one they stood, skull and stake and bowl still in their hands. As one they took a breath and Lila thought one of them might speak. Instead, the chant began again, louder this time, and more insistent. 

The vampire began to howl. Pain, Lila thought. He sounded as if he were in pain. He twitched in the big man's grasp. He struggled to get free and came nowhere near freedom. His eyes, desperate, met Lila's and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for him. The guardsman let go of the vampire's neck and stepped backward out of the circle again. The vampire hovered mid-air where he'd been, as if he'd been hung there. The chant grew even louder, and Lila's ears rang. 

One of the women, the one holding the broken stake, stepped closer to the vampire. She stared up at him as if enraptured while he begged her for his life. She neither blinked nor answered. The vampire howled again and flung his limbs out wide, as if they'd been yanked out by unseen hands. The stake bit deep, a flash of movement, and the vampire, as vampires would, crumbled away to so much bone and ash. 

But there, on the end of the broken stake, was the vampire's heart, or what remained of it, desiccated thing that it was. The woman who held the bowl stepped forward to catch it as it slid from the wood with a liquid sound and the chant abruptly stopped. 

The third guardsman stepped forward again, this time reaching into his vest as he came. He pulled a picture from a pocket and dropped it too into the bowl. Lila knew who was in that picture. She'd handed it over, hours before. She'd cut the rest of the picture away so that the girl was the only one left, caught forever in a happy moment, smiling for the camera in the company of her friends. 

Smoke rose from the bowl and the chant began again, twice as fast and a whisper now. As the womens' voices rose, the flames of the candles winked out, one, then another, then two at a time and three until there were no more. The room was dark, the chant was over and only one woman spoke. 

"It is done." 

Lila felt herself smile. Try to bite me will you, you son of a bitch. The deal is off. So much for Cordelia Chase.


End file.
